The next day slips in quietly, pale and tired behind heavy clouds, as if the sky itself forgot to wake up properly.
By the time evening comes, the cafe windows fog with the breath of warm drinks and crowded tables. It's still the holiday week, and even at night, we're not spared the endless footsteps, the clatter of mugs, the chime of the door swinging open again and again.
I have the night shift today. With Saraya—the only girl among the new part timers. She's more efficient than me, as if she already has the experiences like Brian—maybe she does. Calm but not dull. Enthusiastic without being overbearing. Not chaotic like Brian, who somehow manages to spill more things than the toddlers that visit.
